One-Act Plays Part 95

Wilt thou not?

THE PLAYER. Ay.

d.i.c.kON. It likes me, too.

THE PLAYER. So?

d.i.c.kON. Ay....

I would I knew what thou art thinking on When thou dost mind the fire....

THE PLAYER. Wouldst thou?

d.i.c.kON. Ay.

[_Sound of footsteps outside. A group approaches the door._]

Oh, here he is, come back!

THE PLAYER [_rising with pa.s.sionate eagerness_].

Brave lad--brave lad!

d.i.c.kON [_singing_].

_Hang out your lanthorns, trim your lights To save your days from knavish nights!_

[_He plunges, with his lantern, through the doorway, stumbling against WAT BURROW, who enters, a sorry figure, the worse for wear._]

WAT [_sourly_].

Be the times soft, that you must try to cleave Way through my ribs as tho' I was the moon?-- And you the man-wi-'the-lanthorn, or his dog?-- You bean!...

[_Exit d.i.c.kON. WAT shambles in and sees THE PLAYER._]

What, you sir, here?

THE PLAYER.

Ay, here, good Wat.

[_While WAT crosses to the table and gets himself a chair, THE PLAYER looks at him as if with a new consciousness of the surroundings. After a time he sits as before. Re-enter d.i.c.kON and curls up on the floor, at his feet._]

WAT.

O give me comfort, sir. This cursed day,-- A wry, d.a.m.ned ... noisome.... Ay, poor Nick, poor Nick!

He's all to mend--Poor Nick! He's sorely maimed, More than we'd baited him with forty dogs.

'Od's body! Said I not, sir, he would fight?

Never before had he, in leading-chain, Walked out to take the air and show his parts....

'Went to his noddle like some greenest gull's That's new come up to town.... The prentices Squeaking along like Bedlam, he breaks loose And prances me a hey,--I dancing counter!

Then such a cawing 'mongst the women! Next, The chain did clatter and enrage him more;-- You would 'a' sworn a bear grew on each link, And after each a prentice with a cudgel,-- Leaving him scarce an eye! So, howling all, We run a pretty pace ... and Nick, poor Nick, He catches on a useless, stumbling fry That needed not be born,--and bites into him.

And then ... the Constable ... And now, no show!

THE PLAYER.

Poor Wat!... Thou wentest scattering misadventure Like comfits from thy horn of plenty, Wat.

WAT.

Ay, thank your wors.h.i.+p. You be best to comfort.

[_He pours a mug of ale._]

No show to-morrow! Minnow Constable....

I'm a jack-rabbit strung up by my heels For every knave to pinch as he goes by!

Alas, poor Nick, bear Nick ... oh, think on Nick.

THE PLAYER.

With all his fortunes darkened for a day,-- And the eye o' his reason, sweet intelligencer, Under a beggarly patch.... I pledge thee, Nick.

WAT.

Oh, you have seen hard times, sir, with us all.

Your eyes lack l.u.s.ter, too, this day. What say you?

No jesting.... What? I've heard of marvels there In the New Country. There would be a knop-hole For thee and me. There be few Constables And such unhallowed fry.... An thou wouldst lay Thy wit to mine--what is't we could not do?

Wilt turn't about?

[_Leans towards him in cordial confidence._]

Nay, you there, sirrah boy, Leave us together; as 'tis said in the play, 'Come, leave us, Boy!'

[_d.i.c.kON does not move. He gives a sigh and leans his head against THE PLAYER's knee, his arms around his legs. He sleeps. THE PLAYER gazes sternly into the fire, while WAT rambles on, growing drowsy._]

WAT.

The cub there snores good counsel. When all's done, What a bubble is ambition!... When all's done....

What's yet to do?... Why, sleep.... Yet even now I was on fire to see myself and you Off for the Colony with Raleigh's men.

I've been beholden to 'ee.... Why, for thee I could make s.h.i.+ft to suffer plays o' Thursday.

Thou'rt the best man among them, o' my word.

There's other trades and crafts and qualities Could serve ... an thou wouldst lay thy wit to mine.

Us two!... us two!...

THE PLAYER [_apart, to the fire_].

"Fair, kind, and true."...

WAT. ... Poor Nick!

[_He nods over his ale. There is m.u.f.fled noise in the taproom. Someone opens the door a second, letting in a stave of a song, then slams the door shut. THE PLAYER, who has turned, gloomily, starts to rise.

d.i.c.kON moves in his sleep, sighs heavily, and settles his cheek against THE PLAYER's shoes. THE PLAYER looks down for a moment. Then he sits again, looking now at the fire, now at the boy, whose hair he touches._]

THE PLAYER.

So, heavy-head. You bid me think my thought Twice over; keep me by, a heavy heart, As ballast for thy dream. Well, I will watch ...

Like slandered Providence. Nay, I'll not be The prop to fail thy trust untenderly, After a troubled day....

Nay, rest you here.

[THE CURTAIN.]